


Burning House

by Thursday26



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dream Sex, Dreams, M/M, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, seriously about the spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:49:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5845699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thursday26/pseuds/Thursday26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will's house is on fire.</p>
<p>I am serious about the Season 3 spoilers! I recommend that you've watched the whole season or are willing to have later episodes spoiled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burning House

**Author's Note:**

> I am really super serious about the spoilers! This will have been your third warning and I am not responsible for you not paying attention. There's only so much that I can warn you before it's too late!
> 
> Anyway, I haven't posted anything in a really, really long time, so please be gentle. I had a friend read it over, but it wasn't anything like having a beta.
> 
> Inspired by the song "Burning House" by Cam. It just took hold of me and hannigram was the perfect pairing for it. Please let me know what you think!
> 
> Enjoy!

Will’s house is on fire. Not the one he shares with Molly and her son, but the one in Wolftrap. He’s not panicked though and he’s confused as to why he isn't. There are no dogs barking, no sound from the wind, just the crackling of the flame. The house isn't burning right though. The flames are bright and warm, but the house stays white and in one piece. He’s on the porch, looking in the windows, trying to see inside the flames. The roof above the porch is ablaze, the heat pressing down on the top of his head, but the structure stays intact. He can’t see too far inside. Everything looks in place, like he never left. The furniture isn't burning, even though they’re covered in flames.

Will opens the door. The knob is cool under his palm. He steps into the house, the roar of the flames surrounds him, but they don’t touch him. The air is hot, almost oppressive, but Will can draw breath easily. He steps further inside, shutting the door behind him. It shuts with a click and draws someone from the kitchen.

Will stops breathing for a moment. Hannibal is standing in the kitchen doorway, dressed in a tailored grey vest, white dress shirt and matching grey pants. His hair is slicked back and he’s wiping his hands on a dishtowel that has a crude fish sewn into it. “Will,” Hannibal smiles, “Welcome home.”

Rationally, Will knows Hannibal is locked up with the criminally insane, but he feels something… warm at seeing the man in his kitchen. “What are you doing here?” Will feels himself asking, although his voice sounds far away.

“You want me here,” he replies and disappears back into the kitchen, the flames moving like they do for Will. He hasn’t heard Hannibal speak for years and it sounds like coming home.

Will shakes his head and rushes into the kitchen. The flames cover whatever Hannibal is working on. “We have to leave! The house is on fire!” Will says urgently, moving to grab his arm to drag him out.

Just as Will’s fingers brush against Hannibal’s bicep, he wakes up. He’s swearing and the house is too warm. The air feels heavy on his tongue and coats his throat. Molly is sleeping peacefully beside him and he feels disappointed. He closes his eyes and force himself to take deeps breaths to calm himself. _The dream means nothing,_ he thinks to himself. It only makes sense that he’d dream of Hannibal tonight. Jack Crawford intruded in on the peace he’s found here.

Will left everything Hannibal touched behind him three years ago, including himself. He’s no longer Special Agent Will Graham, the man who can see the monsters behind the mask; instead he’s Will Graham, boat motor repairman and caring stepfather. As far as he’s concerned, Special Agent Will Graham died at Muskrat Farms.

Jack Crawford is a reminder of Special Agent Graham, a reminder of what he nearly succumbed to and never wanted to see again. Crawford brings memories of Alana, broken at Hannibal’s doorstep, Abigail choking on her blood and Hannibal walking away from the chaos, a god among men. Hannibal needs to remain firmly in his past; therefore, Jack Crawford needs to stay there too.

He looks at Molly again, gentle affection filling his chest. She looks peaceful and worry-free and Will would do anything to keep that expression there. She wants him to go, thinks it would be the right thing to do and Will could look at himself in the mirror if more people died. After all, it isn't the Chesapeake Ripper’s mind he’s invading. Will’s scared that if he does go, the man he’ll look at in the mirror won’t be him anymore.

The decision feels like a fork in the road, a bridge leading in either direction. The one he doesn’t cross will collapse and the one he crosses will collapse behind him. There’s an air of finality to him. Molly doesn’t feel it. Will closes his eyes and tries to sleep again. Thankfully he doesn’t dream of the house, but he can feel fire lick at his skin.

*                *                *                *                *

“Did you read it before you destroyed it or did you simply toss it into the nearest fire?” Will swallows at the mention of fire.

“I read it, then I burnt it.”

“And you came anyway.”

Will watches Lecter move in his glass prison. It’s nicer than the accommodations he received while he was staying here. He wants to be disgusted by the pretentiousness, but he’s only impressed. Even at rock bottom, Hannibal Lecter is at the top. He looks odd in a white jumpsuit, and it reminds Will of the killing suit he used to wear, but he looks every bit as poised as if he were in a three piece suit. His hair is shorter, but it suits him, makes him look younger. “…pencil lickers,” Hannibal finishes, carefully placed disdain in his tone. Will knows Hannibal loves the attention, even from said ‘pencil lickers.’

“I want you to help me Dr. Lecter.”

“Yes, I thought so.’ He pauses, looking Will over critically. “Are we no longer on a first name basis?”

And that’s just it. “I'm more comfortable the less personal we are,” Will states, choking back his nerves. It’s too dangerous to let Lecter have been an inch inside his head. Will’s a little shocked to see disappointment in the doctor’s eyes. Now that the beast is out, it’s harder to contain it anymore.

Will refuses to acknowledge the weakness, keeping his distance. He’s out of practice, but falling into carefully worded conversation is as easy as singing along to his favorite song.

*                *                *                *                *

The house is still on fire and Will is walking around it this time. Flames reach towards him, but do not touch him. There’s heat and the smell of smoke. The house is still in perfect condition under the flames, even as the wood crackles under the heat. He makes a lap of the house, then walks in the front door when he feels like he can’t put it off anymore. Will pauses in the threshold at the sight that greets him.

Hannibal is sitting in one of his chairs, casually dressed like last time, with a book in his lap. He looks so _human_ that Will doesn’t know what to do. The fire curls around him, but doesn’t char him or the book in his hands. “Hello Will,” he smiles, not taking his eyes from the book. It doesn’t seem possible that a monster hides behind that surface.

“Hannibal. Why are you here?”

The answer is as frustratingly vague as last time. “Because you want me here.” Hannibal motions towards the couch. “Please, sit.”

“It’s my house.”

Hannibal chuckles, “I'm aware. But you seem to be waiting for permission. So please, sit.”

“Are you going to read to me?” Will asks sarcastically, needing to create some distance between them.

There’s a smirk on Hannibal’s face as he replies, “Only if you ask nicely.”

“Please?” Will says before he can stop himself. He sounds too sincere and it worries him, but Hannibal smiles and starts reading. Will doesn’t hear the words, and he doesn’t care. He closes his eyes and listens to the sounds flowing off Hannibal’s tongue. The fire around them is soothing and a calming background noise.

Will wakes up slowly this time, peaceful. He feels well rested and calm, even if there’s an ache in his chest. He looks to the empty side of the bed and tries to picture Molly there, but instead he sees Hannibal. He’s dressed the same as in Will’s dreams and is reading. Hannibal looks so calm and Will closes his eyes again, falling asleep with Hannibal in his mind. He doesn’t dream and when his alarm wakes him, he’s cold.

*                *                *                *                *

“Have you seen blood in the moonlight, Will? It appears quite black.” Will pictures it in his mind and doesn’t know if it’s beautiful because it is, or because Hannibal placed the thought in his head.

 

Will told himself that talking with Bedelia was to help him understand Hannibal better. She managed to escape him alive and whole, and weave her own tale to protect herself. Truly, one of Hannibal’s best pupils. When Will hears her lies, he feels Hannibal’s hand guiding her to say just the right thing. She’s donned her own person suit to hide the horrendous nature Hannibal helped her cultivate.

“You’re walking down the street and you see a wounded bird in the grass. What’s your first thought?” she asks. It doesn’t take a genius to know it’s a loaded question to measure the level of empathy in someone.

Will decides to answer honestly. “It’s vulnerable… and I want to help.”

“My first thought is also that it’s vulnerable. And yet, I want to crush it. A primal rejection of weakness, which is every bit as natural as the nurturing instinct. Of course, I wouldn’t crush it, but my first though is to do just that.” Will can tell she’s telling him the truth. He feels a flare akin to jealousy in his gut. It wasn’t a good idea to come and talk to her, but he won’t leave before his time is up. And regardless of his own feelings, he’s getting glimpses of Hannibal that he’s never gotten before.

Dr. Du Maurier is looking out the window as if she’s contemplating her next words. Will has to admit that Bedelia is very good at the art of carefully constructed conversation. “One thing I learned from Hannibal,” she says, poised but her person suit is wavering, “is the alchemy of lies and truths. It’s how he convinced you you’re a killer.”

“You’re not convinced?” Will asks, a little shocked at her beliefs. The general consensus (thank you Freddie Lounds) is that Will is a monster in sheepskin.

“You’re not a killer,” she states like she’s telling him the temperature outside. “You’re capable of righteous violence because you are compassionate.”

Will’s brow furrows. “How are you capable?”

She slowly takes a breath. “Extreme acts of cruelty require… a high level of empathy. The next time you have an instinct to help someone, you might consider crushing them instead. It might save you a great deal of trouble.”

Her wavering makes sense now. She’s fearful of what Will is capable of, since, with proper pushing, Will can emulate Hannibal Lecter. He doesn’t point out she didn’t answer his question, but in a way she did. His mind goes to Jack Crawford. Perhaps he should have crushed him to save on the trouble brewing in Will’s mind.

After all, he’s in this mess because Jack Crawford came into his classroom that day and asked for his help with Garret Jacob Hobbes.

*                *                *                *                *

This time, Will is already inside the house. The fire is the same, still covering everything but nothing is burnt. Hannibal is writing something at Will’s desk this time, his shoulders hunched and tense. Will doesn’t know what possesses him, but he walks up behind Hannibal and places his hands on his shoulders. Hannibal relaxes minutely, using his free hand to grab onto one of Will’s on his shoulder. “What are you stressed over?” he asks softly, looking at the paper on the desk.

“A new composition. I'm having troubles thinking of the proper notes,” he admits, lolling his head back and looking up at Will. The fire is reflected in those maroon eyes.

Will brushes some hair from Hannibal’s forehead, a gentle smile on his face, “What’s it about?”

Hannibal’s face becomes serious. “You.”

Will feels flustered at the admission and he doesn’t know why. “Harpsichord or Theremin?” he asks instead, hopefully sidestepping the topic.

“Piano.” Will continues to stroke his hair and Hannibal almost purrs at the attention. “Would you like to hear?”

Will looks over his shoulder at the old piano against the wall. It’s engulfed in flames and somehow just as dusty as the day he moved. “My piano isn't tuned.”

Hannibal stands up, facing Will. “No matter. You’ll just have to stand close.” Will’s confused but allows Hannibal to pull him closer. He pulls one of Will’s hands to his shoulder and firmly grips the other one. Hannibal’s free hand goes to Will’s waist, holding him close. There isn't an inch of space between them and Hannibal rests his cheek against Will’s.

Then, he starts humming. Will can feel Hannibal’s chest and cheek rumble under the sound, but the tune is enchanting and dark and Will finds himself falling into Hannibal’s embrace. Hannibal moves them in slow circles, keeping Will as close as he can and humming all the while. Affection swells in Will’s chest and he melts into Hannibal’s chest.

When they started dancing, the heat around them was tolerable, but the more relaxed Will gets, the hotter the air gets. Will tries to ignore the heat, focusing on Hannibal: the heat from his body, the rumbling of his chest, the five o’clock shadow brushing against his cheek. But, the fire licks at his hand and sears the skin. He hisses at the pain and pulls back, waking up in the process.

Confused, Will sits up in his bed. He’s alone, the space beside him cold and untouched. His own skin is a little warm. He turns on the bedside lamp and looks at the back of his hands. They’re just as scarred as they were before he went asleep. He rubs the back of his left hand absently, looking around the room again. Disappointment fills him when he realizes he’s not in his house in Wolftrap.

*                *                *                *                *

After that last dream, Will tries not to see Hannibal in person as much as he can manage. He’s also angry that Hannibal targeted Molly and Walter. So, that’s how he finds himself in Bedelia’s office again. He’s feeling anger rise towards her the longer they talk. She still has not been scarred by Hannibal and Will finds himself jealous. Why does she get to come away unscathed? What’s so special about her? “If you play, you pay,” he says, trying to aim for factual but hitting petulant.

“You have paid dearly,” she recognizes and takes a moment before she continues, “It excites him to know that you are marked in this particular way.” The way she says ‘marked’ almost sounds resentful.

“Why?”

“Why do you think?”

He scoffs. “Bluebeard’s wife.” He almost means it as a joke. “Secrets you’re not to know, yet sworn to keep.” Bedelia face lights up, like in epiphany. How accurate that description is though. Will had the keys and he looked behind the door. Then he lost his curiosity after that, his curiosity to look into the minds of killers.

“If I'm Bluebeard’s wife, I would have preferred to be the last,” she says, eyes cold. Her voice wavers on the last word, her veiled contempt bleeding through at the last moment.

Will’s taken aback for a moment, his own epiphany manifesting in his mind. “Is Hannibal… in love with me?” he asks slowly, too shocked to sound hopeful.

“Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you and find nourishment at the very sight of you?” she offers in response, her face close to smug at outmaneuvering Will. Will swallows slowly. “Yes,” she states, answering her own question, morphing back into a professional, “But do you ache for him?”

Will’s mind is immediately filled with fire and humming. Filled with that deep voice that soothes his insides without any effort. The anger he feels for Bedelia makes so much more sense now. He’s jealous that she took his place in Europe. And her anger towards him is because she never truly was what Hannibal wanted, even though she survived his game longer and better than everyone else. Yet, Hannibal surrendered because he wanted Will to know where to find him.

 

Will was scared to fall asleep, scared of what his mind would come up with, but he does, sleep tugging at him relentlessly. The house is still on fire, and he’s inside, but he goes outside and sits on the porch, looking out at the darkened landscape. He doesn’t want to face Hannibal after talking to Bedelia. While he was falling asleep, in that serene, semi-conscious state, Will hoped to dream of anything but this burning house. He curses his own subconscious.

The flames feel hotter, more dangerous as they burned around him. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he’s worried about getting burned, but he hardly notices the fire anymore. It crackles and roars around him, almost a comforting background noise now.

The door opens behind him, the hinge squeaking loudly behind him, and causing him to jump. Will turns and sees Hannibal standing the doorway, looking at him with soft eyes. “Are you all right?”

Will nods, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Yeah, I'm fine.” He stands up and stays a few steps away from Hannibal. “What are you doing?”

Hannibal smiles, “Dinner’s ready. Now come, we don’t want it to get cold.” He turns and walks back to the kitchen. Will almost laughs aloud at the notion, eyeing the flames that are dancing around the doctor.

Will follows Hannibal, the door shutting firmly behind him, but they don’t make it to the kitchen. He wraps himself around Hannibal, holding him tight and forcing them to stop. Hannibal spins in Will’s hold, cradling Will’s head in his hands. “Are you certain you're all right?”

Will huffs out a laugh, “Yeah… I just don’t want to lose you.” The admission lifts a weight he didn’t know he had off of his chest and he relaxes into the man’s hold.

“Dear William,” Hannibal whispers, stroking his thumb over Will’s cheek, “You already have me.” He pulls Will in and presses their lips together. The air roars around them, the fire getting hotter and burning his skin. Will ignores the pain, only stopping when he hears the house groan dangerously. He pulls back to look around and wakes up.

He’s sweating and panting hard, not because of the fire. His chest aches and he longs for those strong hands touching him once more. He swears and curls up, bringing his knees to his forehead and breathing deeply. There’s only one way this can end.

*                *                *                *                *

That whole business with Chilton, Will tells himself, was not his fault. Although there’s a voice in his head that sounds like Hannibal is impressed and proud of Will’s actions. He shows the appropriate remorse to Chilton’s face (or what’s left of it) but he feels powerful. He feels powerful in the way Hannibal must have felt when Will was arrested, or when Miriam Lass shot Chilton in the face. Bedelia can see through him and he feels a grudging respect for her, despite his personal feelings.

Then the Red Dragon “kills” himself and Jack’s rabid focus goes to catching Dolarhyde. It’s almost too easy for Will to get what he wants. “Want to hear what the best bait would be?” Will asks Jack.

“I'm not sure I want to,” he admits, but waits for Will to continue.

“Hannibal would be the best bait.” Will’s heart is beating loudly in his chest, but he keeps his face neutral. Jack just looks unsurprised and tired at Will’s conclusion.

“Why in God’s name would anyone want to meet Hannibal Lecter?”

Will knows Jack is being rhetorical, but he answers anyway. “Well, to kill him, Jack,” then adds, “The Dragon could absorb him that way, engulf him, become more than he is.”

Jack looks skeptical, but nods, “You sound pretty sure.”

“I'm not sure,” Will admits, laying down the lie he needs, “Who’s sure? I'm not even sure Hannibal would draw the Dragon, I just say it’s our best shot.” He looks straight into Jack’s eyes with conviction, his heart beat steady.

“Set him up how?”

Will keeps himself from smiling, “We take Hannibal into Federal custody,” he pauses, admittedly for dramatic effect, “We fake an escape.”

The look on the faces of the people he warns is priceless. He knows it’s a risky idea, but Bedelia and Alana deserve fair warning. After all, both of them played and survived. He’ll also admit he’s a little fond of them both, so he gives them the courtesy. Both of them warn him that he can’t manipulate Hannibal. Will knows that, he just doesn’t care.

*                *                *                *                *

This time, Will doesn’t loiter about. He walks straight into the burning house and into Hannibal’s arms. Hannibal holds him and strokes his hair. Will is trembling from excitement. He pulls far enough back to kiss Hannibal on the lips. It feels so real, the pressure, the wetness, but Will can only guess at how Hannibal tastes. He pushes Hannibal back onto his bed. The air around them heats up, but Will refuses to acknowledge it. All he wants to do is _feel_.

Hannibal doesn’t utter a word, but flips them over so he’s hovering over Will. He grinds their hips together and Will feels pleasure shoot through him, from his head to the tips of his toes. Will moans, uninhibited, writhing underneath the man. Hannibal moves to Will’s neck, nibbling and sucking on the pale skin there, his hands moving over Will’s naked chest. Will doesn’t know how he got naked, or why Hannibal is still dressed, but he doesn’t care.

Will looks over Hannibal’s shoulder and hardly notices the smoke that’s filled the room, or how the ceiling is blackening under the flames. The smoke fills Will’s lungs, choking him, but he forces his attention back onto Hannibal. He feels pressure and pleasure and pain and Will cries out, clinging to Hannibal. Hannibal moves, unhurried but hard, causing Will to moan loudly, over the sound of the house groaning around them.

Will arches his back, digging his heels into Hannibal’s lower back, and his sees the room around them. Everything is turning black and burning in the flames and there’s black smoke curling against the ceiling. He doesn’t care though, just focusing on the pleasure surging through him. The fire consumes everything and starts to take the bed and parts of Will. Will succumbs to bliss when he’s fully engulfed in flame, burning with his house and going up in smoke.

It hurts, like being dipped in boiling water, but Will ignores it, endures it and he finds himself in a snow-covered field, Hannibal by his side. Hannibal is looking at the moon, the moonlight shining off his antlers. “They say fire is cleansing,” Will states, hoping that he is cleansed of Hannibal now. He knows it’s not true, but one can hope.

“They also say that fire is rebirth,” Hannibal says, turning to Will, that same, precious smile on his face, “Wouldn’t you agree?” He lifts up Will’s hand and kisses the back of it.

Before Will can respond, he’s jarred awake by his alarm. He lies in bed for a few moments, clinging to his dream, then he remembers.

He remembers that today is the day Hannibal Lecter escapes Federal custody.


End file.
